Benjamina, the driver calls and two soldiers with 
bags and guns double step out.  The doors close, 
catch the skirt of an old woman 

who has just come in.  She moves her plastic basket 
to the other hand, grabs the post. The bus 
goes on to Zichron

and the woman’s face goes white 
as chipped porcelain.  Coins are passed from 
one hand to another as the old woman 

looks ahead but in a voice as loud 
as cars on Yom Kippur shouts 
to get the driver’s help.  He scans the mirror 

lets the door swing open just enough 
for a slice of air to give her skirt back to her. 
A soldier girl takes the woman by the arm and gets her 

into the nearest seat.  Well?  chortles the  driver 
asks if everything is  okay.  Yes  she cries 
reaches for her face.  It was warm as curry.